


the foehn winds

by iamnotbrianmay



Series: road to arabella [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Depressed Brian May, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotbrianmay/pseuds/iamnotbrianmay
Summary: Queen guitarist Brian May has recently admitted that he never quite liked the Musicland Studios; where the band produced their tenth studio album, 'Hot Space'."It's a depressing place, in an even more depressing building," he explained, "It has no windows, and the only thing that seems to come in from outside are torrents, upon torrents of foehn winds."Foehn winds, according to common lore, causes people to go crazy, and even commit suicide.—  Paul Rodd,Music Today Magazine





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rose_2925](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_2925/gifts), [LetMeEntertainYou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/gifts).

> Hey guys! So this is a continuation of the fanfic 'call me when it's over (and my self has reappeared)', and it deals with post-Hot Space Queen. It can be read as a stand-alone though I wouldn't recommend it. 
> 
> All references to the Foehn Winds are merely a metaphor; it's also a common trait in some depressive cases to blame something supernatural/out of their control for their behaviour. So no, it's not an actual ghost or whatever, it's just Brian's depression acting out.

Hot Space had nearly torn them apart. 

Brian had tried to forget everything about it. All the fights, all the slammed doors and the nights sleeping alone. But it seemed that even in their highest moments that cursed album was bound to come back and haunt them. He set his guitar case down on the floor of recording room number five in Musicland Studios and tried to ignore the echo of the last argument they had had there. 

The recording room was bleak, sealed off from the rest of the world, resembling a maximum-security prison. Not for the first time that day, Brian wondered why he had agreed on recording their song here. He didn't even know why _they_ had decided to come here to record '_One Vision _' in the first place. Something about new recording equipment, free space, and— well, he couldn't even remember the other reasons behind them recording in Munich anymore. He just knew he hated it. 

He felt someone perch their head on Brian's shoulder, then sigh, "I know." 

The guitarist turns his head, only to be met with John's reddish hair and lovely eyes, "It's been a while." 

"It's only one song," the bassist turns to scan the room, "then we will be back at Abbey Road, or Montreux, or wherever you want us to be." 

Brian reached for John's hand behind his back, lacing their fingers together and then pressing a kiss to the bassist's temple, "Only one song." 

"Only one." 

🃉♠︎🃉

"—And I _swear _to you, Brian May, that if you threaten to ignore my annotations one more time I will—" John's screams could be heard all over the room, making the hairs on the guitarist's neck stand up. 

"You will what, John?" Brian snapped, "Add another bassline to the song? Change the beginning? Don't be ridiculous and just stick to your instrument instead of fucking around with my parts." 

John turned red with anger, "It's not fucking around when your Solos suck without any annotations." 

"_John,_" Freddie warned, but neither of them seemed to listen. 

"My solos don't suck," Brian said indignantly, tears brimming his eyes, "I spent hours crafting this part, and I think it sounds great." 

"Oh, don't start crying _now_," Freddie could see the moment when something inside, John snapped. It was like a lion preparing to pounce, or a snake seconds away from attacking. He wanted to get in the way, shield Brian from whatever hurtful comment John was about to make, but he was too late, "I know you like to use your depression as an excuse to get your way, but it's time you grow up, Brian." 

Something, probably Roger's drumsticks, fell to the floor and the silence that followed the argument was almost deafening. Freddie wanted to say something, either towards John, or to comfort their guitarist, but the words seemed stuck. He could only observe as Brian unstrapped The Old Lady and handed it roughly to John, who stumbled back. 

"Why don't you finish the track?" Brian said, "You know better, after all." 

The door slammed after Brian, making some of the records on the wall shake, and the three of them were left in the room; staring at the closed door. After a few seconds, John sat down on the chair closest to him, drained of all his anger and staring at the Red Special as if it was a precious thing he had just broken. The bassist then looked up and met Freddie's eyes, "What did I do?" 

"You fucked up," that was the first time the Roger had spoken. Roger, with his too-big shirt that probably belonged to Brian, and his red-rimmed eyes, "You fucked up, big time, that's what you did." 

"Where are you going?" John's eyes were wide like he was actually afraid that Roger would also leave them. 

"To look for Brian," Roger answered as he opened the door, "You two stay here in case he comes back. Although I doubt he will." 

For the second time in less than ten minutes, the door slammed, and Freddie was left looking at the ugly metal thing. Both of them were left inside the recording studio, alone and terrified of what was out there. 

🃉♠︎🃉

Even after all this time, death still lingers around Brian. Not that he was ever close to death, but that's how Roger liked to think about depression. It killed Brian, leaving his muscles completely useless, his face gaunt, and with no energy to leave their bedroom. It kills Roger to see his lover like that, but he guesses he'd have to trade somethings for others. 

Brian is having one of his episodes the moment he hits his ten-years-clean mark. They had had a few slips along the way, but the blade hadn't touched Brian's skin ever since they finished recording '_A Day at the Races', _and it had stayed like that for a decade. 

A decade. 

Seven albums. 

Eight World tours. 

The day that they convince Brian to go back to Munich marks one week since his last depressive episode and this one had been terrible. It had shaken their household to the point of wondering if it was time they took more serious action with Brian. But then he had come out of it, smile as bright as ever and making sure that their worries were wiped away almost as fast as they came. 

Now Roger was walking along the hallways of the old Arabella building, asking every person he knew if they had seen Brian. None of them had, or they had seen him but didn't know where he had gone. That was the one skill the older man had not lost in the years they had known him — the ability to melt into a crowd and disappear. 

It helped in the moments when the press was looking for them like hounds would look for a prey, or when the odd disrespectful fan would follow them deep into the night. But in instances like this, Roger wished the other man didn't know how to escape. It would be a lot easier to make sure that the guitarist was okay. That he wasn't doing something, he might later regret. 

It was only after half an hour of searching that Roger went back to the recording room. Quiet murmurs were coming from the back of the place where his drum kit was set up and for a second hope fluttered in his chest. Then Freddie and John's heads poked out from the backroom with the same amount of hope in their eyes and Roger realised that the guitarist had not come back. 

"Nothing," Roger sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

"Do you think he went back home?" Freddie asked, hopeful. 

Roger shook his head, "No one saw him leave. He still has to be in the building but—" 

John let his head thud against the wall, "He doesn't want to be found." 

There is a long silence in which the only thing that can be heard is John's sniffling sounds every few seconds, and Freddie's ragged breathing. Roger can feel the worry bubble in his chest, making it hard to breathe, to think, and he prays for someone to tell him that everything is going to be alright. 

"I wouldn't want to be found either," John sniffles again, and then the silence takes over. 

🃉♠︎🃉

Twenty more minutes pass before someone knocks at their door. 

John is the one to answer, hoping the person behind it is Brian so that he can jump on his boyfriend's arms and tell him he is sorry. Then have one of the longest talks of their life. He doesn't get the chance to do what he wants, because instead of Brian being the one behind the door, it's one of their roadies. He looks sheepish, apologetic even, as he looks at the three bandmates. 

"Sorry for the interruption," he scratches the back of his neck, "I was sent by management to tell you that if any of you wanted to go out to the roof, you need to tell someone first so that they can deactivate all of the alarm systems." 

John furrowed his brow, "Okay, we will keep that in mind." 

"Also, I would really appreciate it if you told Brian once he comes down from the roof," the roadie said, "the security officers were going crazy thinking that someone was about to commit suicide." 

John's mind blanked out. 

He was taken back to one of the magazine articles he had read when Hot Space had come out. A solo interview that brian had done with Music Today about the building and it's dark history. He remembered the real reason why Brian had hated recording on this building so much. 

> _Queen guitarist Brian May has recently admitted that he never quite liked the Musicland Studios; where the band produced their tenth studio album, 'Hot Space'._
> 
> _"It's a depressing place, in an even more depressing building," he explained, "It has no windows, and the only thing that seems to come in from outside are torrents, upon torrents of foehn winds."_
> 
> _Foehn winds, according to common lore, causes people to go crazy, and even commit suicide._

All of them are out of the room before the roadie can finish talking. John can feel the tears running down his cheeks, the burning of his muscles as he runs up the stairs and the pass of every second as they wait for the elevator to get to the ground floor. He finds himself shaking, breathing coming in rapid and painful bursts, as the elevator rises towards the last storey. 

They arrive at the rooftop and have to cross several doors, machinery cables, and other thousand or some different machines to get to the actual roof. And once they get there, John feels his heart stop. Brian is sitting at the border, long legs hanging in the air, silent tears streaming down his face, and _John's _sweater bawled in his hands. The sight causes John to feel a hundred thousand different things, the most prominent of them being heartbreak and relief. 

Brian is clutching the garment like a child would hug his most precious toy. Knuckles white with the strain of holding it so tightly, holding it to his chest as if it was about to disappear at any given moment. 

Roger was the first to react, "_Brian!" _

One second he was a 30-year-old man standing beside John, the next he was a recently graduated college student pulling Brian back from the edge of the building. Fear seemed to send them back in time, turning them into the young boys they had been when they had first seen Brian's scars. 

_"Please don't tell them. Please. I'd kill myself if they knew." _  


Freddie and Roger were both clinging to Brian as if he had come back from the dead, and Brian was clinging to them as if they were his lifeline. John was reminded of the night several years ago, where they had been in the same position. 

_"God Brimi, I thought I'd lost you." _  


John walked over and all but ripped their hands away from Brian. He then knelt beside the guitarist, cupping both of his cheeks with his hands and joining their forehead together, "Please tell me you weren't going to jump." 

Brian's hands clawed at John's back desperately, legs wrapping around his waist as he cried, and cried, and _cried. _

"I'm sorry," the older man whispered, "I'm sorry. I swear it wasn't me. It wasn't me Deaky you have to believe me." 

He sobbed once more. 

"I swear it wasn't me who was trying to jump. It was the _Foehn Winds._" 

🃉♠︎🃉  


> _The foehn is a warm, dry wind that tumbles, sometimes with landslide suddenness, down the northern slopes of the Bavarian Alps. In winter and early spring, as it sweeps across Bavaria, it melts the snow and brings to the landscape a strange, bluish haze. German mountain-folk hold to an ancient belief that the foehn also brings sickness and melancholia in its blast. Driving people to insanity and even suicide. _
> 
>   

> 
> _Rodd, P. _When the Foehn Blows_. TIME. _


	2. gods look like you

John doesn't mind having to carry Brian out of the building. He doesn't mind that the guitarist's feet are digging into the small of his back or that his tears are staining his shirt. It doesn't matter, because at least he's got Brian's arms wrapped around him like a vice. He doesn't want to think about the other possibility, the one in which _he_ would be the one holding on to Brian's corpse, begging him to come back. 

Freddie and Roger, in an uncharacteristic matter, stay in the shadows. Carefully watching as the events unfold, ready to spring into action if anything terrible were to happen, but not keen on breaking up the pair. John loves them for this. It would be so easy to deny John of something that he should no longer be allowed to have. So easy to pry Brian's hands from around his neck and unhook his legs from his waist, then carry him away to help him heal what John had damaged. 

They don't do that. Not when Brian starts letting out this pitiful whimpers that sound strangely like _I'm sorry. _Not when Brian literally started begging for John's forgiveness. Not when Brian tried to tell John that the bassist had been right. 

It's only when he sees Roger's cold stare that he realises that this apparent mercy isn't mercy at all, but rather his punishment. 

John takes it in stride. It's the least he deserves, for being such an asshole, for letting his venomous mouth run. They get into their car, and Brian doesn't let go, they get home, and Brian doesn't let go, he falls back into the bed and Brian _still _doesn't let go. John hears as Roger and Freddie close the door as they exit the room, giving the pair some privacy, and the younger man is immensely grateful. That is until Bian tries to start apologising again. 

"You were— are— right," the guitarist whispers, "I guilt-trip you. I try to shine my tear-filled eyes your way to get what I want and then almost got myself _killed _because I couldn't handle a reality check." 

Brian's large hazel eyes were staring at him like he _was_ the moon and the stars, and John broke. He had nearly killed the love of his life; he and his venomous words had curled around Brian's mind and had driven him to the edge of the building. All because the guitarist had ignored his annotations. 

The bassist bit his lip and shook his head, trying to hold back his tears. He reached over, combing Brian's hair back with his fingers, "No baby, that's not true. That's not true at all." 

Brian sniffled, "Except it is. For the past few years everything we do I have to agree with." 

"That's the least we can do," John whispered, "As a group, as a family, as lovers. Everyone has to like what we are doing. The last time we didn't—" 

The last time they didn't, it had nearly killed not only Brian but the rest of them too. After all, it had taken three giant catastrophes to make them realise that, and none of them had involved Brian directly. He had been left to deal with three messes of boyfriends, one overdosed, the other dying from alcohol poisoning, and the last dealing with rising post-traumatic stress. And back then he had been nothing but patient. 

Even when John, in his drunken stupor, had written a fucking _diss track_ about him. 

Hot Space had nearly killed them, and now John had nearly killed Brian, and Brian was _apologising. _

John cleaned his hands on the sheets, not wanting to touch Brian with something dirty, and then cupping his face. He brought their foreheads together, letting their breaths mingle in the middle, and enjoying the warmth that radiated from his boyfriend's skin, "You don't have to be the one apologising — not tonight.

"We both said things we didn't mean, we both got angry beyond what we should have, but the one to blame for this is me. And God, baby, I hope one day you forgive me for what I said, especially because I know that it will bounce around that Pretty head of yours for a while. I know they will. They will make you second guess yourself and shut yourself off from us, and I will never forgive myself for that. Especially not since they drove you to that edge." 

"But I am a burden, John. Just when we are having a good time, my bullshit comes back to bite us in the ass and drag us down." 

John pressed a chaste kiss to Brian's parted lips, "I'd rather have your bullshit come back over and over for the rest of our lives than not have you at all." 

Brian shook his head, minutely, "You don't mean that." 

"I do," another kiss, "with every inch of my life, Brian Harold May. I mean that more than I have ever meant anything in my life." 

In the morning, when they wake up tangled in between the bedsheets and two other pairs of limbs, they are going to have a serious conversation. It will hurt, it will probably result in more tears than necessary, and will extend for a few weeks, if not months. A time period in which they will have to learn to brian Brian back from his self-hatred and melancholy. But for the time being, for the remainder of the night, John is content to press his boyfriend to his chest and whisper sweet nothings into his hair. 

The time to grieve about the fact that he had nearly killed Brian will come later. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, Kudos, and Feedback help me so much! 
> 
> Also swing by [my tumblr (@iamnotbrianmay)](https://iamnotbrianmay.tumblr.com/)and say hi!


End file.
